How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Lululemon

As a dude, it's an uneasy thing, walking into a Lululemon store for the first time. It's like venturing into a nail salon: you feel as though all your testosterone was checked at the door. Urban myths lead one to believe that it's a woman's space, a haven for the lady yogis of the world, a place no man would enter. Who knows what strange women secrets are told here?

The first time I shopped at a Lululemon, I was one of two sperm carriers in the shop. The other guy was having more trouble with the emasculation than I. A bright and bubbly sales associate was trying to help him find a pair of shorts, but from the look on his face, he was having a very hard time resigning himself to the whole thing. He was looking at the clothes as if they were pantyhose—if he bought these he'd be branded a transvestite and ostracized from society.

The salesgirl was doing her best to persuade him that it's okay to wear Lululemon if you have a penis. I was once where he was, weighing my masculinity against clothes that have a logo that looks like a lady's wig.

But I've worn them. I'd seen the light of the Pace Breaker shorts. I d argue that they're the finest gym shorts on earth. I was here to purchase my second pair. I went up to him: "Dude, trust me, they will change your life. Just buy them, nobody cares."

Maybe the life-changing bit was overkill, but I believed in these shorts. You see, one Christmas, my brother gave me a pair. I handled them as though they were women's underwear, but he assured me that after one wear, I'd become a member of the cult. Whatever, I thought. I tossed them in my suitcase and never really thought about them again.

But then one morning before the gym, I realized my usual baggy basketball shorts were in the wash. (If you've seen any guy at the gym, you know what the shorts look like.) I had no choice but to try out the Lululemon pair. They were much tighter, but in my case, this just meant that they fit. The inner layer of support was at first constrictive, but eventually somehow freeing. It kept everything in line, and if you ercise at all, you know that things have a way of shifting all over. The super-light material made me nimbler, quicker, and kept me cooler. These were, in a word, amazing. My brother was right—I was starting to feel a cultish pull to these shorts.

Once the Lululemons were in regular rotation, I had to retire the old big-ass shorts. Something I should have done when I left college. Only my "Lulus" were good enough. And yes, I call them that now.

I realize as a dude who loves Lululemon I'm in the minority. Men's hesitation to the brand hasn't gone unnoticed by the powers that be. Several months ago, the company announced that they'd be launching men's stores in 2016, all in efforts to capitalize on their rapid growth. Presumably, the spaces and branding will be more masculine, which will put some shoppers at ease. Of course, since that announcement, Lululemon has had their share of hardships. First there was the see-through pants fiasco, and then their former chairman's remarks that not all women (read: women with thighs that touch) are cut out to wear Lululemon. Hard as it is to sweep those things aside, I stand by the shorts.

Maybe the squeamish dude I encountered in the Lululemon store will need a more manned-up Lulu for him to feel comfortable wearing the stuff. I didn't. You shouldn't, either. I took my stuff up to the register. A swipe and $64 later, I was out the door, swinging my bright red reusable bag all the way home. Pricey? Yes, but consider this: I've never had to replace a pair.

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